


Soft

by Vizkopa



Category: One Piece
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, M/M, Spanish!Mihawk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 07:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12452298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vizkopa/pseuds/Vizkopa
Summary: You only stared blankly at your teacher, rooted to the spot. “Do you expect me to dance or something?”“That is exactly what I expect you to do,mi flor.”





	Soft

**Author's Note:**

> The little speech about ballrom dancing is from the movie Take The Lead. Ngl, Antonio Banderas in that movie DEFINITELY inspired this oneshot...

When you entered the training hall, you were not prepared for the sight standing before you. Instead of the usual greeting of the pointed end of a long, dark blade, Mihawk awaited you dressed in a breezy white shirt, open at the chest to reveal flawless, milk-white skin, and soft leather-soled shoes. Yoru hung on the wall behind him, glinting dangerously in the firelight. You felt you could better appreciate the blade’s beauty when it was like this—for once, not aimed at your throat.

“What’s this?” you asked cautiously, feeling suddenly underdressed in your battle-worn training garb.

“I thought we would change the pace a little for today’s lesson.” Mihawk strode over to a small table in the corner and dropped the needle on the record player that sat atop it. Music immediately began to fill the room.

You only stared blankly at your teacher, rooted to the spot. “Do you expect me to dance or something?”

“That is exactly what I expect you to do, _mi flor_.”

You flushed darkly at the pet name. “But I don’t have a partner.”

“I will be your partner tonight.”

You gaped at him. “But—but we’re both _men_.”

“Do you have a problem with that, _flor_?” Mihawk stepped close to you and you almost had to crane your neck to meet his gaze. Eyes like liquid gold glared back, daring you to deny him.

You swallowed hard and broke eye contact. You had been this close to him before, when you were sparring. Those golden eyes could be as ruthless as his blade. But this was not one of your sparring matches. This felt strangely… intimate. In a way that made your skin crawl in a not entirely unpleasant way. 

“I don’t see how this has anything to do with swordsmanship. And besides I… I don’t know how to dance…”

“I will teach you.” He held out his hand and you took it hesitantly, cringing slightly as you felt the swordsman’s callouses again the palm of your hand. Not for the first time, you imagined those rough hands on other parts of your body, but you dispelled the thought quickly.

Your breath was knocked from your lungs as Mihawk pulled you tight against his chest. You fought not to look down at the expanse of smooth, white skin, but considering the top of your head barely brushed the swordsman’s chin, you didn’t have much choice in where your eyes fell. You chose to look at your feet instead, trying desperately to control your breathing as your teacher’s arm tightened around you.

You rested your hand hesitantly on his shoulder. “Let’s get this over with then.” You made to step forward in what you hoped was in time with the music, but Mihawk remained firmly still. He looked down at you, amused.

“What are you doing?”

“Dancing.”

He laughed. “No, no, _mi flor_. I lead, you follow.”

“Isn’t following the _woman’s_ part?”

“Not necessarily. There are many dances where the woman leads, and many dances that do not conform to any such gender roles. But you are learning, so for now, you will follow.”

You grumbled an unintelligible response and reluctantly let Mihawk lead you through the first steps. The two of you soon fell into a steady rhythm, Mihawk graceful and fluid, and you somewhat stiff and awkward. You weren’t made for this. Your muscles, carefully toned to wield your heavy, two-handed blade, couldn’t seem to emulate that effortless fluidity that your teacher displayed. Even when the two of you sparred, he never seemed to rely on raw power like you did, but his blows still fell with what felt like the strength of ten men behind them. Not for the first time, you marveled at the man before you. 

“You’re lagging behind, _flor_.” The voice of your teacher cut through your thoughts and the training hall and the music faded back in.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“ _Flor_? It means flower. I call you flower because you are soft.”

You felt your face flush red. “I am not!”

“Oh, you are. But don’t worry _mi flor_ …” He spun you around and pressed his chest against your back, a shudder rolling down your spine as his breath ghosted over the shell of your ear. “We’ll make a swordsman out of you yet.”

He turned you to face him once more and you could see the laughter dancing in his golden eyes at the pink flush in your cheeks.

“I still don’t see how this relates to fighting in any way.”

“You think this style of dancing is weak?”

“No, I— Well, kind of…”

“Let me tell you, _flor_ , these dances have been danced by the fiercest of warriors for hundreds of years.”

“Really?”

“Don’t sound so skeptical, it’s true. It was believed that any man who could kill with speed and accuracy should be able to dance with grace as well.”

He twirled you around the hall, his feet never seeming to touch the ground. You grew enamored with his eyes, fixed on yours with an intensity that made it hard to look away. His voice enveloped you, melding with the music, drowning out all other sounds of the wind howling in the heights or the castle.

“Ballroom dancing is for kings and empresses. It is the dance of strength.” 

His steps grew faster, more purposeful as the music approached its climax and it was all you could do to just hold on and let him whisk you across the floor. Your head spun and you weren’t sure if it was because of the twirling, or because you were currently lost in his eyes and the music and the warmth and pressure of his hand on your waist.

“And of romance and love.”

The music reached its crescendo and he dipped you as easily as if you weighed nothing. As the song faded into silence, you were left with only the sounds of your breath, yours labored, Mihawk’s as even and regular as if he were merely resting. He pulled you back to your feet, but his hold on you did not lessen one bit.

“Good work today, _cariño_ ,” he said with a soft smile.

You blinked up at him. “Why the sudden change?”

A slow smirk spread across his face and he cast a meaningful glance down to where your bodies were still pressed tightly together. You became suddenly very aware of the tightness in your pants. 

“Because you are not _soft_ anymore.”

Then he simply walked away without another word.


End file.
